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Tuesday, November 29, 2011

A Bag of Bricks

Last week was Thanksgiving. I was coming off of a week-long business trip and trying to mentally organize the many items I needed to check the box on before leaving for a fabulous five-day holiday with my family. I was trying to squeeze a week's worth of work into two days at the office while making sure I had my Turkey Day responsibilities all lined up as far as food and family scheduling were concerned.

In the midst of all the holiday hub-bub I somehow confused an "assignment" from my son's preschool regarding fresh fruit for the needy. There was a bag sent home from school that we were apparently supposed to put fruit in for a pre-Thanksgiving celebration the kids were going to have on Tuesday before break. The name of the local charity the donations were going to was called SHARE. My 5-year old however, told me it was for "sharing" at school and they were supposed to bring in their favorite toy or something from the house for show-and-tell. I'm sure you can see where this is going.

So my son packed up his favorite Bayblade in what was supposed to be a bag full of bananas, apples and squash for the needy. Not only that, but all the other parents were there to watch their wee-ones generously pile up their gifts while my son had to stand next to the two teachers with a plastic toy in his bag. As a parent of a preschooler, this is about as bad as it gets short of forgetting your kid at school and the teacher having to drive him home.

His teacher emailed me to gently let me know that Austin had some things he had made for me at school, but in all the confusion of the SHARE celebration she didn't pack his in his bag. After about three back-and-forth emails I finally figured out where the confusion had come from and what I had done (or not done as it were). I was absolutely HOPRRIFIED with myself. How could I have been so stupid as to think there wasn't a Thanksgiving celebration at school? Why hadn't I read the weekly newsletters more carefully? Why did I listen to a 5-year old? Why did I have a full-tme job when it feels like nobody else does? Sigh. I suck.

Just as I starting to let this "bad" thing ruin the start of what was sure to be a fabulous holiday I heard the voice of a friend saying to "put it down like a bag of bricks." I have a very love/hate relationship with this expression. I feel that sometimes it can be used to absolve ourselves of responsibility for things we maybe should give a little thought to and we maybe should feel a little sorry about. I hate to be the kind of person who doesn't care what people think, but sometimes in life, you just have to let yourself off the hook.

I spent a lot of years constantly worrying about what type of woman/mother/friend/daughter people perceived me to be. I makes me feel so good to say that those days are gone (not always, and not entirely), but pretty much gone. My life is too busy and full and hectic to punish myself over the hot meal that was never cooked, or the phone call that wasn't promptly returned, or the birthday present that was only half-wrapped and didn't have a card to go with it.

So, I told my son how sorry I was for my mistake and he seemed literally unphased. I explained what I had done, and I told him I would do my best not to let it happen again - we also had a talk about the importance of giving to those less fortunate. My husband offered to read those newsletters also from now on so hopefully between the two of us we'll catch all the details of preschool life. We'll try harder but never be perfect, and not because we don't care...because sometimes the details just slip through the cracks in your brain and you have to forgive yourself.

Sometimes we all need to just put the bag of bricks down and keep walking.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

The Best Part

I'm finding as time goes on and life gets more and more full that the best parts are the little pieces in between the big events. The little exchanges, conversations and experiences that happen all the time that if we're not careful, can go unnoticed. These are the best parts for me, and the things I want to focus on in my writing. Speaking of best parts - the best part of this whole blogging thing for me is the knowledge that more likely than not absolutely no one is going to read any of this. I'm literally writing for the air out there in cyber-world and wow, does that feel nice. Moving on...

I was in Chicago on business last week and flew home on Friday. I was in the security line at O'Hare at 5:30 in the morning with my carry on, ticket and laptop bag getting ready to go do the big take-off-your-shoes-and-let-me-feel-your-bra routine. The line was super long for that time of day and everyone was looking at everyone else in line trying to pretend like they weren't looking.

There were two black people (is it okay to say black people?) working a special security area off to the side for pets and cages and such. The woman was big and healthy and had a McDonald's bag in the back pocket of her security uniform like she was saving a snack for later. A thin black man walked up to her and said: "Gurl, I hear you been trippin' and I just wanna tell you that we good. I love you gurl you don't need to worry!"

To which she replied: "Ohhhh! Am I happy to see you. I been so worried, 'cause you know that ain't me! That ain't who I am and I just wanna tell you that. You know that ain't who I am."

Apparently she had said or done something that she wasn't proud of, and this man was there to tell her it was okay, and her forgave her for whatever it was that had her to worried. They hugged like crazy and he tapped her on the back as he walked away and said "Don't you worry no more now."

I got out my Blackberry and pretended to be texting while I cried a little. It was just so damn sweet. Then I noticed the staunchy business man in the aisle next to me was looking right at me while I cried and he smiled at me as if to say "I understand, I kinda want to cry too". Then the father in back of him who was traveling with his wife and two children put his arms around his kids from behind and hugged them a little close to him. He was smiling as well.

This whole exchange was so small and so beautiful and it literally took a group of people waiting in a security line at O'Hare to a different place for a minute. It took me to a different place for the rest of the day. Not everything I'll write will seem like a scene from Love Actually - just this story happens to have a very Colin Firthy vibe.